Page 1 of Park Avenue Princess

Prologue

Lynne – 20 years ago

“Mom! Dad!” I run through the house, my sandals slapping furiously against the hardwood floors that have only felt the softness of slippers or socks. In my haste to share my excitement, I forget all about the rule of removing our shoes in the entryway. What I have to tell my parents is too important to worry about the silly floors because I just know they’re going to be so proud of me.

It’s late afternoon on a Friday and my parents can usually be found in the sun room enjoying drinks before dinner—wine for Mom and Scotch for Dad. I relieve my shoulders of my pack, letting it drop haphazardly in the hallway while I rush to them.

“Dad! Mom!” I yell again as I round the corner, nearly colliding with my mother.

“Lynne!” She steadies me with her hands firmly gripping my arms. “What is the meaning of this? Why are you yelling?” She looks over my shoulder as if expecting to see someone chasing me. Her narrowed eyes return to mine, annoyance in her stare.

“I’m just so exci—”

“And why are you still wearing your shoes? You know by now to remove them in the foyer.”

“Yes, but I—”

“Lynne DuVall, you know better. And you know not to come charging through the house screaming. I thought something was wrong, yet it’s not. Your father and I are trying to relax after a long week.”

The fact that Mom doesn’t even work and practically relaxes all the time has me biting back a snarky retort. But I do know better than to say something that would be perceived as talking back. When she releases my arms, I try to hold up the paperwork I’m clutching that will confirm my excitement and hopefully ease her apparent displeasure. But before I can start to explain, she’s clucking her tongue.

“I suppose your bag isn’t put away and the mail isn’t in your father’s office.”

Collecting the mail and delivering it promptly to Dad’s desk is my task every weekday since it usually arrives about the time I return home from my after-school activities. With my mind focused on sharing my fantastic news, I didn’t even think to check the mail.

Dad’s voice thunders out from the room. “I expect that mail to be where it’s supposed to be, young lady.”

I roll my eyes knowing it won’t be the end of the world if the mail sits in the box for a few minutes more. Mom clucks her tongue again and now I have to suppress a giggle to stop thinking about how much she sounds like a chicken pecking around its pen. Not that I’d know firsthand what a clucking chicken sounds like since I live in New York City. I only saw it in a movie once.

“Lynne,” Mom practically hisses. “Respect.”

That one word is all she has to say to let me know I’m acting inappropriately and disrespectfully.

Jeez!And all I wanted to do was have them excited for me.

“Now,” Mom starts. “Go get the mail you obviously failed to gather. Then remove your shoes, put away your belongings, and meet us in the dining room. We’ll have dinner in thirty minutes.”

“But, Mom, I—”

“Listen to your mother, young lady!” Dad yells again, not even bothering to get out of his chair to come greet me or add to the conversation face to face.

I look at my mom, eyes pleading, hoping for some leeway, but all I get is a cold stare from her while she crosses her arms in front of her. Locking my teeth together to keep from saying something I shouldn’t, I spin around, my fist crumpling the paper in my hand, all but ready to just toss it in the trash.

“Remove your shoes right now so they don’t scuff the floors.”

I stop in my tracks at my mom’s words, ready to spout off withseriously. Without looking back or acknowledging her, I toe-off my sandals, scoop them up, and stomp back toward the entryway. I stuff my paper in a pocket of my bag before dropping my shoes to the floor, slipping them back on in order to go back outside to retrieve the mail. Once I gather it and return inside, I go through the routine of placing my shoes where they belong, delivering the mail to Dad’s desk, and finally scooping up my bag to go up to my room to sulk.

“Sheesh,” I grumble as I resist slamming my door. Instead, I quietly shut it before changing for dinner. Pulling out the crinkled paper, I place it on my desk and smooth it as best as I can. I stare down at the letter from my school, wishing I could reclaim the initial joy I felt when it was first given to me. My counselor called me into her office and presented me with the copy, knowing the official announcement would be mailed to my home. She was ecstatic for me, knowing how I pushed myself to graduate early from high school at the age of sixteen. Seeing the pride she had for me had been amazing, and I thought if she could show that much emotion for me, someone who was just another student, imagine how proud my parents would be.

I felt a pang in my chest at the reception I received, not even getting a chance to share the news. They’d been too preoccupied withrules and routine. Now I wondered if I should even bother bringing it up at dinner. No doubt Mom and Dad will ask me to explain my actions upon arriving home, so I suppose I’ll have no choice.

Unless I make something else up. Or lie.

But I never lie to my parents.

I blow out a breath just as my phone pings with a message. When I open it, Mom is texting me to dress nicely for dinner since we’re having a guest. Throwing my phone down on my bed, I roll my eyes at the fact my mother can’t even be bothered to come to my room and talk to me, instead sends a damn text!

And a guest? Who now?

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